Stiles Stilinski, Demon
by fandom-and-stuffs
Summary: Stiles is a demon. And unfortunately, his friends are about to find out. Set post s3b and beginning s4.
1. Demon

Stiles was never normal.

It wasn't just the whole most-of-my-friends-are-supernatural-beings thing. Because Stiles Stilinski may look and talk and act like a normal human being, but the truth is… well, a lot more complicated than that.

Stiles is a demon.

Yes, a demon. Evil creature from the pits of hell. No one knew, and anyone who ever did is… he dealt with them. He did a pretty good job hiding it from pretty much everyone he ever met; he had long since perfected the fine art (if you could call it that) of acting human.

Until now, that is. Which kind of sucked for Stiles, because he had dealt with people who had found out about him before, and he didn't really fancy dealing with Scott or Derek or Lydia or any one of his friends for that matter. He wished to heaven – if a demon can even wish to heaven, whatever – and hell that no one had found out and that he could have just gone on living his life like a human, like he wanted to. But nooo, he had to get possessed by a nogitsune and then have someone who apparently didn't get the memo that that nogitsune was gone hire a freaking assassin to slice him in half. Nearly. Loads of fun, that.

Stiles was on his way to Lydia's house because of… well he didn't quite know exactly, but he had gotten texts from both Scott and Lydia so he guessed he had to go and see what was going on. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel of his Jeep as he paused at the red light. A minute later he had pressed his foot back down on the accelerator, eyes firmly on the road and mind on what was waiting at Lydia's. He hoped it wasn't too bad; they had gone through enough shit already.

What he didn't see that he should have seen or sensed was a man walking down the street. A werewolf really, and an assassin for hire, but he was perfectly camouflaged as a normal person in corduroy trousers and a faded leather jacket. Unless you knew about the guns hidden in his jacket and the knife in his pocket, you wouldn't suspect a thing. And he was following Stiles in his Jeep, eyes flicking towards him every few seconds or so.

_Kepfluunnnkkk. _The Jeep made a horrible noise as it clattered to a stop only a quarter of a mile from its destination. Stiles got out and slammed the door shut as he went to investigate the cause of the breakdown.  
"Come _on_." He sighed as he pulled the hood up to steam and hissing. He tried to waft the steam away but it only seemed to be getting thicker. Stiles coughed and took a few step back. "What the hell?" He said incredulously.  
"Oh, I just fiddled around in there a bit. Didn't know it would do that, but hey. Works for me." A sharp voice filled with hostility came from the shadows. The man stepped in front of Stiles, hands in pockets.  
"You know, messing with people's stuff usually get you a punch." Stiles tried cynicism, as he does. The stranger just laughed.  
"You can't punch when you're dead, boy. And seeing as it's what I'm getting paid for, I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you." Stiles held his hands up slowly.  
"Why do you want to kill me? I'm sure I haven't done anything that bad." The man looked bored now, and just rolled his eyes.  
"I just get hired. I don't ask questions. Now I'm going to kill you." He pulled out a silver gun from his jacket, clicking the hammer and pointing it straight at Stiles' chest.

Now, right about now was the time most people either begged for their lives or tries to run away, but Stiles did neither of these. All he did was look around the street, checking its emptiness. There was one person in a shop on the other side of the road, but the angle was such that he wouldn't be able to see anything. Stiles smirked. The man pulled the trigger, and the bullet went sailing through the air right into his chest with a dull thud. Stiles winced and took a step back from the force. Blood slowly seeped from the wound and dripped onto the ground. The assassin let out a shallow chuckle and started to turn away when Stiles walked a few steps forwards and grabbed his shoulder.  
"You're going to need to do a little better than that." The man turned around half confused and half terrified. Behind him he saw Stiles, grinning – bullet still in his chest – with his eyes completely black, pupil and iris and whites and all.

The stranger stepped back, fear filling his eyes.  
"W-what are you?" He asked. Stiles laughed.  
"Your worst nightmare." He giggled again. "Damn, I have _always_ wanted to say that to someone." He looked strangely delighted for someone who should have been dying if not dead at that very moment. The man pulled out his gun and proceeded to shoot Stiles again and again – three times actually. But all it did to Stiles was make him stagger a little and let out a noncommittal 'ouch' of pain. Stiles lunged at him, putting enough force into his legs to knock the older man to the ground. Stiles bent down and pulled the dagger from the man's pocket, only to be pushed away with a snarl. The werewolf came at him, eyes glowing yellow and body transforming to be slightly more wolf-like. Stiles easily side-stepped the pounce that came next, managing to slash him across the chest in the process. Unfortunately, he let his guard down just a fraction as he turned to face the werewolf, giving him the chance to knock him to the ground, cutting him with his claws and giving him a nasty bash on the head. The dagger was just a few centimetres away from his hand and he was pretty much about to have his throat torn out by an angry werewolf assassin, who by the way was drooling ON HIS FACE which was just uncomfortable for the both of them. He drew on the last reserves of his power from all of those centuries ago (you have to remember that he hasn't used his power in a long time) and used his telekinesis to get the dagger into his hand. He knew from all of his experience that a normal killing blow wouldn't quite do it for a werewolf, so he pushed the dagger straight through his head.

The man made a strangled gasp and twitched a little before going totally limp right on top of Stiles.  
"Ugh." He moaned, flipping the corpse off of him. "Nice, really." He stood up slowly and brushed himself down. Then, he was about to get to fixing his Jeep, so he turned around. Which he regretted. Because standing by his Jeep was none other than his 'pack'; Scott and Lydia, Derek, Malia, Isaac and even Peter. Derek had his arm in front of Scott like he had been trying to hold him back, Peter, Isaac and Lydia looked confused while Malia looked half shocked and half apprehensive.  
"Stiles?" Scott was the first to speak after about twenty seconds of awkward staring.  
"Uh, yeah?" asked Stiles tentatively. Scott opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't get to say anything.  
"Are you sure that that's Stiles?" Derek interrupted, stepping forwards. "Because I'm not sure it's Stiles."  
"What? Of course it's me!" Stiles threw his hands up into the air. "How the hell wouldn't it be me?" Lydia spoke up.  
"Well, for one thing there's everything that just happened in the last five minutes. And…" She trailed off, motioning to her eyes. Stiles just stood there for a second, but then his eyebrows shot up and he murmured a small 'oh' before haphazardly scrambling over to his Jeep's wing mirror to look at his eyes. They were still as dark as the void.  
"Dammit." He hissed, blinking again and again until his eyes returned to their normal lightish brown colour. He stood up straight, grinning. It didn't seem to be helping much; now 'annoyed' could be added to the list of emotions splashed across their faces. _Wait a second, _Stiles thought to himself, _where the hell is Pete-_

Peter, in fact, had just knocked Stiles out with a brick to the back of his head.  
"Why did you do that?" Scott asked, moving towards Peter and Stiles with the others. He just shrugged.  
"I figured that this is not something you deal with in public."  
"Did you have to knock him out?" inquired Lydia, who was checking the place on his head where Stiles had been hit.  
"At this point, we don't even know if that's really Stiles," Peter explained. "Who was to say he'd come quietly, or not try to kill everyone?" Derek sighed.  
"Come on, let's get him back to the car." So, they all headed back to Lydia's car at the other end of the street – Derek and Scott hauling Stiles' unconscious form between them – and drove back to Derek's loft.

"Shouldn't he be waking up by now?" Malia asked, staring down at Stiles tied to a chair. They had been standing and sitting around him for about half an hour, with no signs of moving until-  
"Uhh." Stiles groaned and tried to lift his hands up to his head. Key word: tried. His hands were bound. Lydia snorted at his pathetic attempt to break free.  
"Awake?" Peter walked down the stairs in the corner. "Finally." They all quickly gathered closer from their various positions around the room.  
"W-Wha? What the – what the hell?" Stiles exclaimed, blinking up at his friends.  
"Actually, that's what we'd like to ask you. So what the hell, Stiles?" Scott replied. Stiles screwed up his face.  
"Do we even know if that's really Stiles? Especially after…" Derek trailed off, but they all knew what he meant: the nogitsune and everything that happened with that. Particularly Allison.  
"Yes, I'm really me! Honestly! No nogitsune, or anything else is in my head."  
"Okay, so say we believe you," Isaac said. "Can you explain what happened before? Because we can't." Stiles sighed. _I'm screwed,_ he thought, _no explanation and even if I did manage to come up with one in the next twenty seconds would they believe me?_  
"We're waiting Stiles." Peter interrupted his thoughts.  
"Okay!" He snapped back at him. "One second…" He went through all of the possible scenarios in his mind but came up bust. What could he say? The **truth**?  
"I, uh, have been taking secret ninja lessons?" Unfortunately it came out as more of a question. "Actually, no, what about –"  
"Cut the crap, Stiles. Just tell us what's going on." Stiles swallowed and took a shallow breath. There was nothing else to do. He had to tell them.  
"Okay, okay. Ever-ever heard of demons?" He blinked as he spoke, so when he looked up his eyes were pitch black.

"Oh my god." They took a collective step back. A few of them gasped rather over-dramatically. Derek rolled his eyes at this.  
"Guys, shut up. Stiles, carry on."  
"Right. Right. Okay, so, yeah. I'm a demon. From hell. Kind of." Stiles frowned. "It's sort of complicated."  
"Complicated how?" Malia asked.  
"Well you don't start off as a demon. You start off human, like anyone else. And then you go to hell. One way or another. And over time, whether it's one hundred or one thousand years, you just… turn. Into a demon. That's just how it goes." He shrugged. "I am a demon. There. Explanation. Can you untie me now?" He pulled on the ropes around his wrists, but no one moved to help him.  
"We still don't know if you're Stiles. So further explanation needed." Isaac looked as though he was a little too smug. "How can you be Stiles if you're a demon?"  
"Demons do possess people." Lydia pointed out.  
"Right. Oh. But I can explain that, too! This body-" He motioned down to himself (as much as you can while tied to a chair, anyway) "Was going to die. I possessed it when it was one week old and about to go into the ICU. The one who would've been Stiles died, not long after I came I to the picture. Acceptable?"  
"Why should we trust you?" Scott spoke.  
"C'mon, Scott. We're like family. You've known me forever, practically. You have to trust me." Half-pleaded Stiles. Scott sighed and turned away, speaking quietly to the others.  
"I don't know guys. He seems like Stiles to me. And demons aren't the weirdest thing we've seen." There were mutters and hums off both agreement and disdain. Further whispers of conversation followed; not that Stiles could hear much of it.  
"Demon…"  
"Not the point though, is it?"  
"C'mon,"  
"We can trust him."  
"No we can't."  
"But-"  
"Shut up!" A shout from Derek ended the brewing argument.  
"Alright." Isaac walked over to him. "Why don't you tell us something only Stiles would know? And then we decide if you're really Stiles."  
"You're talking apart from the whole werewolf thing, right?" He replied, failing to keep the sarcasm from his voice.  
"Not the time for this, guys. Answer the question, Stiles." Stiles had almost forgotten Lydia was there.  
"Uh… right. Could you ask me a question that only I would know the answer to? Thinking of something is kind of hard." Someone sighed.  
"Okay…" Scott trailed off reluctantly. "What were we looking for I the wood when I got bitten?" He cast a glance at Peter.  
"A body, half of a body." Stiles said confidently.  
"That's too easy, I know that." Derek complained.  
"Fine. Oh! So, what happened when you, me and-and Allison-"He swallowed and looked down. "When we went under the ice and died."  
"Um, there was a big white room. And the nemeton was there, and then there was this weird flashback thing, where I saw myself with you on the night you were bitten, the night we were looking for the dead body." He looked at Derek smugly.  
"It's Stiles. No one else could know what happened that time." Stiles pulled on his bonds again.  
"Great! So now we've established I'm me, do you think we could get on to the untying?"

After that, they didn't really have a chance to talk about what had been revealed that night. Though Scott did keep bringing it up at the most inconvenient times. Like in front of his dad (who thankfully didn't hear what he said clearly), at lacrosse practice, times like that. The talking about it, though, turned out to be more awkward than anything else.

The pack finally had a chance at conversation about a week later, back in Derek's loft again – though Stiles was thankful for not being tied to a chair this time – quizzing Stiles. This time, the main difference was Isaac's absence; he had left not long ago.  
"So," Malia lent forwards onto a chair. "Why didn't you tell us you're a demon?"  
"Because I was trying to avoid situations like this. And anyway, if I had told any one of you before what happened with the nogitsune, would you have trusted me at all?" Stiles offered.  
"I'm still not sure whether to trust you completely now." Derek interjected.  
"Yeah, but he does have a point. The nogitsune kind of opened us all up to… y'know, other stuff." Scott reasoned and everyone made noises and gestures of agreement.  
"How did you become a demon?" Oh, and Kira had turned up today too. She and Scott so obviously liked each other, it was almost sickening.  
"Didn't I explain this yesterday? I thought you were caught up on everything that I told the others last night. You go–" Kira shook her head.  
"No, no, Scott told me. I mean, why did you go to hell? What did you do exactly?"  
"That's kind of a personal question." Pointed out Peter.  
"It is." Stiles inclined his head towards the werewolf but then sighed. "I, uh, sold my soul." He mumbled. Lydia's eyebrows shot up.  
"You _sold _your _soul_? Like, demon deals, sold your soul? Why would you do that?"  
"Demon deal? What's that?" Malia and Scott spoke in unison. Stiles snorted and started to explain.  
"You summon a crossroads demon by putting some stuff in a box at the crossroads, yeah? Then-"  
"Then you be incredibly _stupid _and sell your soul to whoever turns up!" Lydia seemed especially furious with Stiles about this. No doubt she had read about it somewhere. "What did you sell your soul for?" He ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled slowly.  
"It doesn't matter now. I got what I wanted, and my ten years, and now we're all here."  
"What powers do you have?" Derek questioned.  
"Um, teleportation, I can like manipulate stuff," He flapped his hand about and knocked a glass off the table as way of demonstration. "Strength a bit. Plus possession, but you guys already know about that. And I can freak people out with the eyes." He flashed them to black, earning him a couple of eye-rolls and flinches. Scott sighed.  
"Okay, Stiles. We get it." Then Peter spoke from the other side of the room.  
"Well, what happens now?"

What happened after that was… a little anticlimactic. They went back to doing everything that they did before: school and work and being werewolves and banshees and were-coyotes. Obviously, it wasn't exactly the same. Stiles, for one, thoroughly abused the fact that the others were aware of his abilities and constantly popped up in places he wasn't wanted. Not to mention he just wouldn't stop knocking everything over. They dealt with it, even laughed about it a little. And they went on; at least, until Derek went missing and they found out about the Benefactor. But that's another story.

This was the story of how Stiles Stilinski, demon, got sort-of-accepted by his friends.


	2. Lydia and the Demon Deals

Ever since the pack had found out about Stiles' demon status Lydia had been itching with curiosity about what he had made his deal for. She knew all about demon deals; not only had she read all about them online at one point, but she knew exactly what happened to her grandfather ten years before. He had told her about it when she was younger; she had had nightmares about it but her mother had told her again and again that she was just being silly, that there was nothing to worry about. By the time her grandfather had died she was sensible enough (she was a sensible six year old) to be past believing his stories. Not that it hadn't scared her when he died exactly when he said he would.

And from all of those tales that he grandfather had told her Lydia knew that you didn't just make a demon deal for a small thing or a petty thing – no, it had to be big and scary and dangerous and pushing you right to the very edge to even consider it. She had been wondering and wondering and she was now rather annoyed that Stiles hadn't told them despite the fact that it was most definitely a personal thing and he didn't have to tell anyone at all ever. Still she wanted to know. So she decided to approach him about it.

They had agreed to a study group at Lydia's one Saturday, Scott, Stiles, Kira, and – obviously – Lydia would be there just to help each other out in preparation for the PSATs coming up. Lydia had already taken hers and thus wouldn't actually be studying, just helping the others out with theirs. She had her chance to talk to Stiles when he was the first one to arrive. They were alone.  
"Stiles," Lydia said softly as they sat on her couch waiting for the others to arrive, "I know you said it doesn't matter anymore but it must have mattered at the time otherwise you wouldn't have done it. What did you sell your soul for?" There was a short silence; but it seemed to Lydia like they had been sitting there not saying anything forever, pretty much. She decided to speak up.  
"If you really don't want to tell me then that's o-"  
"It was, uh, important, yeah. Still is, I guess." Interrupted Stiles. He bit his lip and cleared his throat before continuing. "There was a disease in my town back when I was human. It was deadly and extremely contagious. It could have killed every human being in North America at the time. And there we were in our little town, trying to stop it spreading anywhere else. But there was nothing anyone could do." Lydia nodded understandingly, inclining her head when Sties paused to tell him to keep going, that it was okay. They were swathed in blue-green light from the lamp with the turquoise lampshade behind them as Stiles' voice got quieter and quieter with each sentence he uttered.  
"Like I said, we were just doing our best to get by. And then…" He let out a shallow breath. "There was a g- a girl. A girl." He coughed. "We were in love." Dead silence. Stiles looked down at his hands – he was shaking.  
"Stiles. If you want to stop that's fine." Lydia was still desperate to know the whole story, but she knew that Stiles being okay with it was more important than her knowing.  
"No, no. I should say it. It's just: well, three hundred or so years is a long time to keep something bottled up, yeah?" Stiles gave a small smile towards Lydia, but you could still see that he was trembling. She screwed her face up in a sort of half-smile-half-frown in response and he carried on.  
"We were in love. And it was great for a while. Then the disease hit. Still fine. And _then_. Then she got it and I was not great or fine or anywhere in the general area of okay. I… to be completely honest, I went a little crazy. Every extreme to find a cure for hi-r. I couldn't find one." He stared down at the carpet beneath his feet. "And she died."

"Oh. I'm sorry." She offered as a terrible condolence.  
"Don't be. Like I said; it was a long time ago. No use being sad over it." Lydia was about to ask about what happened after that, but she was interrupted by the loud ringing of the doorbell. _Rrrrrrrrriing. Rrrrrrrrriing. _  
"That must be the others. You want a minute?" Stiles shook his head, lifting himself off the couch and giving a short sigh.  
"No, I'm good." _Rrrrrrrrriing_. The doorbell sounded again. Lydia stood up and accompanied Stiles to the door, opening it to the faces of Kira and Scott.  
"Hey Lydia, Stiles." Scott nodded at them both.  
"Can we come in?" Kira asked.  
"Of course!" Lydia pushed the door open a little more and Stiles began to walk back to the living room. They both shuffled in and Scott sped up a little to catch up with his best friend.  
"Stiles?" Stiles whipped around at the sound of his name and looked with expectation back at Scott.  
"Yeah?"  
"You okay? You seem kinda… sad." Stiles opened his mouth, planning to explain, but changed his mind.  
"Yeah, I'm fine."

The next time that Stiles and Lydia were alone it was the day they realized Derek was missing. No one had spoken to him in just under a week and frankly everyone was a little worried about him. Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Malia and Kira had decided to split up and look for him around where he might be. Scott and Kira were looking _ and Malia, Stiles and Lydia had headed over to the loft (despite the fact that they had already looked there). They drove in an awkward silence and walked in barely talking. Malia informed them that she would check upstairs and quickly rushed through the darkened loft to the staircase in the corner. Meanwhile Stiles and Lydia could tell from just a few looks around that Derek hadn't been there in a week at the very least. The couch was undisturbed, dust beginning to form a thin film over the coffee table and there was a broken mug on the floor, its contents already dried up. Stiles bent down and looked at the shards of china on the hardwood floor.  
"Well, wherever he is, he didn't bother to clean up before he left." Stiles muttered. He looked up at Lydia. "You would know if he was dead, right?" She nodded in response and walked past Stiles to look out of the window.  
"He's not dead, but he's not here, and he can't be safe." Stiles frowned at her and began to stand back up.  
"What makes you say that?" He asked.  
"Does this place look like he left it willingly?" And now he saw it properly. Scuff marks on the door frame and claw scratches littering the wooden poles around the corners of the room were all obvious signs of a struggle.  
"Right. So he was taken – maybe by the Calaveras? Or, uh…?" He trailed off, looking for Lydia for further ideas.  
"Stiles," she said, a trace of nerves in her voice. "Like I said the other day, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but-" Stiles cut her off in a sad tone.  
"It's about my deal, isn't it?" Lydia nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I'll tell you. Supposed to be good to get things off your chest isn't it? I trust you. Where did I get up to?"  
"She died." She informed him.  
"Right. After that, I went a little crazy."

Stiles crossed the small distance between him and the couch and sat down with a short creak (the couch, not him). Lydia, meanwhile, just turned around to face him.  
"I went to all of the places that I could find – medical, all of the theories we had come up with about the disease, everything until: I found some occult stuff."  
"Occult?" Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Stiles you didn't-"  
"I did." He shrugged. She rolled her eyes. "I started to look things up in all of the books we had, about spells and necromancy and cures for every disease. None of them seemed sincere, though; and none of them seemed like anything I could actually do. Until I got to the demon deals. I'm guessing you read the same sort of things as me? Assuming you read about them, obviously." Now it was Lydia's turn to cast a look on the ground.  
"Kind of. My grandfather… he made a deal. He told me stories before he went. I never really believed him – even when the supernatural things started happening I doubted it but now, obviously." She gestured at Stiles.  
"Seriously? What was his name?"  
"James Martin. Why?" Stiles visibly recoiled and looked at the ground, his hand trembling. He was taking short, shaky breaths and refusing to look Lydia in the eye. "Stiles?" she asked, worry in her voice. "Stiles. Why did you want to know my grandfather's name?" He looked up at her; or rather, her shoulder, his jaw wobbling.  
"Lydia, I am so… I am so sorry. I had no idea God, I had no idea." She pushed his head up, forcing him to look right at her.  
"Stiles. Why are you sorry?"  
"Your grandfather's deal? I made that. I made that deal and he seemed interesting – it was the first deal and the only deal I ever made – so I remembered his name and I found him in the pit. And I tore him apart." Stiles' top lip curled in disgust at himself. He shook his head, wrenching his gaze from Lydia's.

"Hey, hey, Stiles. It's okay. It's not your fault, its fine-"  
"NO IT IS NOT!" He roared, and then stood up angrily, eyes as black as night. The few remaining pieces of pottery on the floor turned into dust in his rage. Lydia cowered back slightly, wary of Stiles' powers. "It is not okay, Lydia Martin," He paused, his voice a scarily calm contrast to moments before. "It is what we did and what they still do and it is not a problem now but it is not and never will be _okay_." He filled the last word with poison and Lydia could tell that this wasn't the Stiles that she knew talking. Not easy-going, sarcastic, Stiles Stilinski. This was a three hundred year old demon who had too many regrets to count and a lethal amount of power talking. And she wasn't going to lie – she was terrified. She was expecting just about anything from the demon at this point, but to her surprise, a voice floated in from the staircase in the corner.  
"Am I interrupting something?" Malia asked, wagging her finger between Lydia on the couch and Stiles standing with his back to her. He turned around, his eyes back to normal; brown and innocent. He shook his head.  
"No." Lydia said slowly.  
"Right." Malia nodded back at her. "Anyway, Derek's not upstairs."  
"Not down here either. I guess we'd better get back to Scott and Kira." Stiles teleported himself to the door and motioned for the other two to head in the same direction. Malia walked towards him and Lydia stood up with no haste. Together, they went to Stiles his Jeep and left the loft, including the things that had happened there in the last half hour or so, behind.

Lydia finally got the end of the story that she had asked for a week or so earlier in her house when they were in Mexico, going to where the Calaveras were to rescue Derek from them. They were on pleasant terms even once they got into the city together (Scott, Kira and Malia had gone in just before them to arrive at the party they would need to go through to get to the Calaveras.) but about half way there things got a little tenser as Stiles attempted to apologise for snapping at her a few days before.  
"Hey, Lydia, I just, uh, wanted to say sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have shouted at you. I should have just finished the story." He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at her from the side of his eye.  
"It's okay. You didn't have to do or tell me anything."  
"I don't know, I just feel kind of guilty for not telling you everything like you asked."  
"Well we do keep getting interrupted." She replied with a smile.  
"Do you still want to know?" He quizzed her. Lydia nodded hesitantly, looking at Stiles warily just in case. He sighed. "Okay. So I read up the stuff, and I decided to try it, why not. I did it, this girl appeared. She offered me a deal."

_He looked up into the sky and around him nervously, shivering in the cool evening air. Stiles glanced down at the fresh pile of dirt standing out on the dusty crossroads.  
"Hello?" He asked the empty air. No response. He waited a few more minutes before shaking his head and sighing. "Stupid, stupid." He muttered to himself. "Back to the books, stupid idea, why…"  
"Oh, honey." A female voice came from behind him. "Everyone seems to think that, for some reason, if I'm a little late, that I'm not coming at all. Do you assume that about everyone, honey?" Stiles froze in half terror and half hope before starting to spin around slowly. In front of him was a woman about twenty years old, in a tight fitting black dress with dark red eyes. She had dark skin and her shoulders were covered by a black shawl.  
"Y-your eyes…" Stiles stuttered.  
"What? Oh, yes." She took a slow blink and her eyes returned to a normal dark brown colour.  
"Who are you?" He asked.  
"Just a demon. The more pressing question is who are you? And, even more interestingly, what do you want?" Stiles swallowed. As much as he had hoped, he had barely believed that it would ever, that he could ever actually summon a damn crossroads demon.  
"I want this disease gone. And… her… alive. No questions asked by anyone else. Do you know who I mean?" She whistled.  
"Take a guess. And, Stiles, that is one pricey request. Normally, I give a few options, but… ten years. Take it or leave it." She looked quite smug about this. He took a wary step backwards.  
"Ten years? What do you mean?"  
"Tut, tut, tut." The demon shook her head with a malicious smile. "Someone needs to catch up on their reading. I give you what you want, and in exchange I get your so-"  
"Soul, I know. But what do you mean ten years?" Stiles interrupted.  
"I give you ten years to frolic around like a baby lamb on Earth, and then I kill you with a hellhound and drag your lovely little soul down to Hell. You know, the pit, perdition, the inferno, and so on." Stiles nodded at her determinedly.  
"Deal." He said with conviction. She grinned and stepped over to him, pulling his body close to hers and kissing him right on the mouth. Then, she pushed him away, still smirking evilly.  
"Deal all done. See you in ten years, Stiles." _

"Whoa, Stiles." Lydia looked at him with admiration in her eyes. He pursed his lips together. "You really loved her, didn't you."  
"Yeah. Yeah, I would've given anything for her. Hell, I did." He said with a sad smile and a quick gesture to himself. "Let's just- just forget about this. Put the past behind us." It sounded more like a question than anything. And not for Lydia.  
"Okay." She agreed. And so they did.


End file.
